Vain (The Seven Deadly 1)

Henrik opened the passenger door of a silver Audi for Abri and she got in, her gaze still plastered on Ian and me. Simon let himself into the back of the sedan and Henrik walked to the driver’s side. I watched all of them before Ian’s hand found my lower back.

“I’m over here,” he whispered in my ear, sending shivers down my spine despite what had transpired.

He led me to a black Mercedes G-Class. “This is yours?” I asked him.

“Not really. It’s just the car I used when I lived here. My parents bought it.”

“I see.”

He opened my door for me and I slid in. I reached for my belt but he beat me to it, wrapping me with it and buckling me in. He kissed my neck unexpectedly, perplexing me, and shut the door.

“What was that?” I asked him when he got in on his side.

“What was what?” he asked, buckling himself in.

“The belt? The kiss?”

“I needed to do it, wanted to be close to you then, I guess.”

He shrugged his shoulders as if that explained it and started the engine, bracing his hand on my headrest as he backed out of the driveway. We followed his parents to Aubergine’s in silence. He never took his hand off the headrest and the warmth from his hand kept permanent butterflies fluttering. It felt bittersweet though because, at the same time, my heart pounded in hurt.

Just because he didn’t say he loved you doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, Sophie.

I was being a little bit pyscho. I knew it. It’s just, the whole love thing was new to me. I’d never loved anyone like I’d loved Ian before.

Cut yourself some slack then, but move on. Own your feelings but don’t expect reciprocation. Let that come if it comes.

I let the bitterness melt off my chest and slither to my feet.

“I couldn’t say it,” he blurted.

My head whipped his direction. “I know.”

“You don’t understand,” he said.

“I do,” I told him, resting my cheek against his hand.

He looked at me briefly and I tried to convey to him that there was no pressure. He turned back toward the road.

“No, you really, really don’t.” He took a deep breath. “The truth is, I’m so deep in love with you, I can’t see straight. The truth is, I’ve been afraid to admit it to myself, let alone you. The truth is, I’m terrified.”

“Why? Am I really so frightening?”

He smiled at me. “Shockingly so.”

“Ian.”

“You have no idea what you do to me. I’ve felt things for you these past few months that don’t seem healthy. I’ve wanted you so desperately I’m afraid it may not be natural. You consume my thoughts, Sophie,” he confessed, seemingly forgetting I was there. He spoke to the windshield, a sort of haze drifting over him. “You’ve arrested my senses and I can’t seem to get enough of you. That’s what scares me. I’m so deep there’s no getting out for me. You own me, you know?”

I fixed myself so I faced him. “No, I’m afraid I don’t, Ian. Embellish for me. Pretend I’m one of your students and I don’t comprehend the lesson. Go into great detail...painstaking detail,” I flirted, my heart pounding in my chest at his proclamation.

He fought a smile. “I don’t know why I opened this floodgate. I’m tired, that’s why, and you look so damn bewitching right now.” He sighed. “At Masego, the way you roll the sleeves up your forearms, highlighting your beautiful skin with the perfect wrists that meet those incredible hands. I’ve imagined those hands on me so many times,” he continued, shocking me and drifting further into his own thoughts.

“That might be when I first became aware. Possibly it’s the way your jeans hug your thighs every time you take a single step though. All I can think of when you’re around me are those damn legs, how they’d feel in my palms, how they’d feel wrapped around my waist.” He lightly tapped a fist against the wheel and I sat up a bit. “They’re distracting. Or maybe it’s when your hair is loose and wild and down your back. I’d give anything to see it across your bare shoulders,” he swallowed, “or coiled around my fists,” he declared. He shook his head back and forth slowly, eyes still trained on the road ahead. “It’s actually all those things,” he said suddenly, “but mostly I think it’s your face.”

I squirmed quietly in my seat, praying to God I didn’t break his seemingly unaware trance. My pulse beat erratically at the confession. I felt my throat dry, my stomach drop and it was everything I’d never experienced before but knew was exactly as it should have always felt. My hands gripped the leather beneath my fingers to keep from throwing themselves at him and wrapping themselves around his shoulders.

o;Darn you, Abri Aberdeen, and your thoughtfulness,” I whispered to the steamer.